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THE OGLETHORPE ECHO
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L A. WILLIAMSON,
PRACTICAL WATCHMAKER k JEWELER
AT I)R. KING’S DRUG STORE,
Street, - - - Athens, Cla.
5®- All work done in a superior manner,
and warranted to give perfect satisfaction,
octl-lv
J. M. NORTON,
IMttAiiier
RflmflilmnmtßLtß,
Under Nemon House, Athens, Ga.,
Giaar laifactnrers,
And Wholesale and Retail Dealers in
Tobacco, Pipes, Snuff, &c.
Dealers would do well to price our goods
before purchasing elsewhere. Our brands of
Cigars are known everywhere, and sell more
readily than any other. oct3o-tf
YOUNG MEN
AIT HO WISH A THOROUGH PREPA-
H RATION for Business, will tind supe
rior advantages at
Moore's Southern Business University,
Atlanta, Ga.
The largest and best Practical Business
School in the South.
Students can enter at any time.
Send for Catalogue to
ootMO-ty B. F. HOOKE, Pres’t.
C. S. HARGROVE
CRAWFORD, GA.,
DEALER IN
Dry Goods, Notions, Bats, Boots, Shoes,
Groceries, Provisions r Etc.
Or, J. H. McLEAN’S PATENT MEDICINES
Be sure to give me a call and examine my
stock if you want to
Buy Goods Cheap I
novl3-tf
ATHENS
Hartile & Granite Yard
AR. ROBERTSON, DEALER
. in Monuments, Head Stones, ffdTjjipW
Cradle Tombs, Marble and Granite
Box Tombs ; also, Vases and Mar- ijjm'
ble Tops for Furniture. Persons Impß
desiring work of this kind would sJkKJC.
do well to examine my designs be- '
fore purchasing elsewhere. Prices ■*4
moderate. octiMy*
The Echo Job Office.
£l)c ©gktljM'jK €cl)0.
The Little Grave.
“ It’s only a little grave,” they said,
“ Only just a child that’s dead
And so they carelessly turned away
From the mound the spade had made that day.
Ah! they did not know how deep a shade
That little grave in our home had made.
I know the coffin was narrow and small—
One yard would have served for an ample pall;
And one man in his arms could have borne away
The rosebud and its freight of clay;
But I know that darling hopes were hid
Beneath that tiny coffin lid.
I knew that a mother had stood that day
With folded hands by that form of clay;
I knew that burning tears were hid *
“ ’Neath the drooping lash and aching lid.”
And I knew her lip, and cheek, and brow
Were almost as white as her baby’s now.
I knew that some things were hid away,
The crimson frock, and wrappings gay ;
The little sock and half-worn shoe,
The cap with its plumes and tassels blue;
And an empty crib, with its covers spread,
As white as the face of the sinless dead.
’Tis a little grave, but oh ! beware!
For world-wide hopes are buried there.
And ye, perhaps, in coming years,
May see, like her, through blinding tears,
How much of life, how much of joy,
Is buried up with an only boy.
0, Give Me a Home in the South!
BY WILL S. HAYS.
O, give me a home in the South !
Down by the murmuring stream,
Where fragrant magnolias bloom,
Life’s like a mid-summer dream.
Beautiful stars of the night
Peep thro’ the curtains of space,
Shedding their soft mellow light,
Loving to smile on my face.
O, give me a home in the South !
The loveliest spot on the earth ;
I care not how humble it be,
The dear, sunny land of my birth.
O, give me a home in the South !
Where the mocking-birds gather and sing
Their melodies cheerful and gay,
Welcoming beautiful Spring;
Where the river floats gaily along,
In its winding way out to the sea.
I care not where others may dwell,
A home in the South give me.
O, give me a home in tlm South !
A home ’neath a Southern sky,
Where I’ve lived all the summer of life.
Where the friends of my youth live and die.
When I’m called by the Angel of Death,
To leave all I love on the earth,
May the Angel then find me asleep
In the beautiful land of my birth.
■t< >
Vial,
lies,
line,
■i of
|g,
s
led
|',ST
■ M-St
■ lire
I'l I SI I
ly
Bread and Butter.
The girl engaged in moulding bread
Shall make some sweet-heart flutter,
With hope to get the dairy-maid
To make his bread and butter.
She may not play the game croquet,
Or French and German stutter,
If well she knows the curd from whey
And make sweet bread and butter.
In meal and cream she’s elbow deep,
And cannot stop to putter;
But says if he will sow and reap,
She’ll make the bread and butter.
The dairy maid, the farmer’s wife,
Shall be the toast we utter ;
Alone man leads a crusty life,
Without good bread and butter.
Paper ha.s actually been made from
frog-spittle—the green scum of ponds.
A bull with a human arm has been
brought to this country from Calcutta.
The genius has yet to be horn who is to
invent a practical substitute for work.
There is a still fruitful apple tree in Rol
lingford, N. Y., which was planted 125 years
ago.
A new spirit.in London plays the pi
ano and another in Baltimore pulls bell
wires.
A female claimant to the throne of
France is housekeeper at a hotel in New
.Albany.
At Sheffield people drown themselves
in the reservoir from which water is drawn
for public use, and in the time of one keeper
ninety bodies have been found in that reser
voir.
Despairing of another opportunity to
go back “ on” his native land, Santa Anna
has concluded to go back to her—and Mexico
welcomes the wily old revolutionist with for
giving grace!
Three snakes were caught sucking a
cow at St. Martin’s, N. 8., a few days ago, and
two of them were killed. They were a yard
long, and in the stomach of each was found a
pint of milk.
The daughter of Gen. Sherman re
ceived among other bridal presents, twenty
three dozen silver spoons. The Richmond
Dispatch now knows why Ben Butler was not
invited to the wedding.
An old soldier in Sicily gave his wife a
silk dress. His wife died and was buried in
the dress. Some weeks after the old soldier
saw this dress on a woman in the country, and,
making inquiry, was told that she had pur
chased it from the Capuchin monks, who had
the custody of the village cemetery. He re
ported the case to the police, who investigated
and made the discovery that a regular trade
was carried on in effects taken from dead
bodies. There was even a trade in hair.
CRAWFORD, GEORGIA, FRIDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 20, .1874.
EMERALDS.
One wintry afternoon in January, up
in the black attic of a wretched tene
ment house, a pale, sad-eved woman sat
sewing. The garment upon which she
was engaged was very rich and costly,
being a handsome party dress. The twi
light closed in rapidly, with a blinding
fall of snow, and a bitter, wailing blast,
that made the windows rattle in the
casements. Still the sad-faced woman
on.
“ Mother,” piped a slender voice be
neath the window, “ shall you get the
fine dress done ? O mother, I’m hungry;
if I could only haveUome Tea and a bit of
sausage.”
The mother worked steadily on for a
few minutes, pausing only to brush a
tear from her white cheek and then she
rose and shook out the glittering robe.
“ ’ Tis done at last," she said ; “ now
mother’s poor little girl can have some
supper. Only be patient a little longer,
Flora. Ross, Ross, where are you, boy ?’’
A manly little fellow came out from
the bed room beyond.
“ The fine dress is done, Ross," said
his mother, “ and you must run home
with it as fast as you can. Miss Garcia
will be out of patience, I know. Tell
her I could not finish it one moment
sooner, and ask her to give you the money.
We must have it to-night. And you
can step in at Mr. Ray’s as you come
back and buy some coal, and we must
have some bread and tea, and a mite of
butter, and you must get a sausage, Ross,
for poor little Flora.”
“I’ll get ’em all, mother," he said,
and be back in no time. You shall have
a big sausage, little sis,” he added, turn
ing toward the cot.
The little girl nodded her curly head,
and her great, wistful eyes sparkled with
delight.
“And you shall have half of it, Ross,"
she piped in her slender bird-voice.
“ Hadn’t you better put on your thick
jacket, my bov?" continued his mother;
“ the wind cuts like a knife."
“ Pshaw, little mother! I don’t mind
the wind." And away he fvent down
the creaking flight of stairs and out into
the storm.
In her splendid mansion on Fifth Av
enue, Miss . Garcia Fontenay was in a
perfect furore of impatience and anger.
Her dear five hundred friends were as
sembling in the halls below, and her
handsome dress had
What did that beggar woman mean by
disappointing her? At that moment
there was a ring at the door and a voice
in the hall.
“ Please tell Miss Garcia my mother
could not finish it sooner, and she wants
the money to-night."
The servant took up the handsome
dress and message.
“ I’ll never give her another stich of
work," cried the angry beauty. “ I ought
to have had it three hours ago. Hence,
Fanchon, come and dress me at once,
there is not a moment to lose ! No, I
can’t pay to-night, I haven’t time. He
must call to-morrow."
“ But we’ve no fire and nothing to eat,
and my little sister is sick,” called tlie
boy, pushing up the grand stairway.
“ Shut the door, Fanchon !” command
ed Miss Garcia. And the door was closed
in his face.
From her perch at the parlor window
little Pansie watched the whole scene,
her violet eyes distended with childish
amazement. “ Poor little boy,” she said,
as Ross disappeared down the stairway,
“ sister Garcia ought to pay him. It
must be dreadful to have no fire and
nothing to eat.”
She stood for a moment balancing her
self on the tip of one dainty foot, her
rosebud face grave and attractive ; then
a sudden thought flooded her blue eyes
with sunshine, and snatching something
upon the table, she darted down stairs.
The servant had just closed the street
door, but she fluttered past him like a
humming-bird and opened it. On the
steps sat Ross, brave little fellow that he
was, his face in his hands, sobbing as if
his heart would break.
“ What is the matter, little boy?”
questioned Pansie.
Ross looked up, half believing that the
face of an angel was looking down upon
him through the whirling snow-flakes.
“ Oh, I can’t go home without the
money,” he sobbed; “ poor mother work
ed so hard, and little Flora is so sick and
hungry.”
Pansie's eyes glittered like stars.
“ Here,” she said, “do you take this,
little boy, and buy her lots o’ nice
things. ’Tis worth a great deal; papa
bought it for my birth-day present, but
do you take it and welcome.”
She extended her dimpled hands and
something like a show er of falling stars
tinkled to the boy’s feet. He caught it
in amaze —-a necklace of emeralds, illus-
trous, gleaming things, set in tawny In
dian gold.
“ No, no!’’ he cried, running up to
where she stood; I can’t take this, take
it back.”
“ You shall take it!" she commanded
imperiously. “ I’ve lots o’ jewels and
fine things—run home, now, and buy
your sister something to eat."
She closed the door with a bang, and
stood irresolute in the stormy gloom.
Should he ring the bell and return the
jewels to Pansie’s father, or should he do
as she had bid him ? He thought of his
mother and little Flora watching wist
fully f<?r his return. He could not go
back and see them starve. With a sud
den feeling of desperation, he thrust the
glittering necklace in his bosom and
dashed rapidly down the snowy street.
“ Would you like to buy this, sir ?”
There was a tremor in the boy’s voice
as he asked the question, and the hand
that held up the necklace shook visibly.
The lapidary took the gems, examined
them closely for a moment, and then
shot a sharp glance it the child.
“ See here, sir,” he said presently, his
voice stern and commanding, “ I want to
know how you came by this ?”
The boy’s clear eyes fell, he blushed
and stammered evidently embarrassed.
The jeweller put aside the emeralds, and
taking the lad’s arm, led him into a
small ante-room,
“You are a thief!" he said. “That
necklace belongs to Mr. Fontenay ; he
bought it from me not one month ago.
You stole it. You are a thief.”
The little fellow straightened himself,
and his brown eyes blazed.
“I am not a thief, sir," he retorted.
“ I didn’t steal that necklace—a kind
little girl gave it to me, and I know that
it was wrong for me to take it, but—my
mother and sister were starving.’ 7
The jeweller hesitated.
“ You don’t look like a thief, sir," he
said, “ but I will send for Mr. Fontenay,
ana will settle the matter at once.”
He dispatched a messenger according
ly, and Ross sat down in a corner and
sobbed bitterly, as he heard the driving
winds and thought of his mother and
poor hungry little Flora. In half an
hour Mr. Fontenay came, bringing his
daughter, little Pansie, with him. The
little creature darted iu like a humming
bird, her cheeks ablaze, her blue eyes
flashing lightning.
“He didn’t steal my emeralds," she
cried, “ I gave ’em to him to sell ’em
and buy bread for his little sister.”
Ross rose to his feet, struggling hard
to keep back his tears. He put out his
little brown land, which Pansie instantly
clasped in both her chubby palms.
“ I am noi a thief, sir," he said at last,
addressing Mr. Fontenay, “ I never stole
anything in my life. I know it was
wrong to take the necklace. But—but,
sir, my little sister is sick and she is
starving.”
The merchant drew his hands across
his eyes.
“ You’re a manly little fellow," he
said, patting the lad’s head, “ and I do
not in the least blame you, hut we will
give you something more available.
Here, Pansie, give this to your little
friend.”
He put a gold piece in Pansie’s hand,
which she handed to Ross, with the in
struction that he should run straight
home, and buy lots o’ goodies for his
sister—a command he was not slow to
obey.
“ I think we’ll not lose sight of the
little fellow,’-’ continued Mr. Fontenay,
as Ross disappeared in the stormy dark
ness, “ shall we, pet? Let’s see what w 5
can do to help him. He’s a promising
lad and an honest one, I’m sure. Mr.
Lennox, you’re in need of an errand
boy, why not try him? I wish you
would."
The jeweller consented, to Pansie’s
great delight, and on the following day
Ross was duly established as errand boy
in the fashionable establishment.
* * * * * *
Fifteen years after, one blustering
March morning, a young man sat behind
the counter of a thriving Jewelry estab
lishment in one of our Northern cities.
He was a handsome man, a scholar, and
a traveler, a man of taste, intellect, and
money, for he was junior partner in the
firm, which was a prosperous one. But
despite all this good fortune Ross Dun
bar was not happy. His mother and lit
tle Flora had gone to their long home,
and he was utterly without kith or kin
in the wide world.
Sitting alone that morning, with the
roar of the March winds in his ears, his
thoughts went back to the days of his
boyhood—to his mother’s humble home.
How r vivid the past seemed, and how
dear and sacred despite its privations and
sorrows. His eyes grew dim and his
heart swelled. All were gone over the
wide waters of time and change.
A tender smile softened his sad face as
he recalled the stormy night when he
sat sobbing on the steps of Mr. Fonte
nay’s mansion, and little Pansie taking
pity on him dropped her string of emer
alds. Darling little Pansie, the remem
berance of her sweet face, as he saw it
through the snow wreaths that night,
haunted him constantly. In all these
fifteen years never fora moment had he
forgotten her. But she was gone; lost
to him forever.
His reverie was broken by the entrance
of a customer, a lady closely cloaked and
veiled. She approached the counter
with a jewel case in her hand.
“ Would you buy these sir?" she asked
simply in a clear, sweet voice that stirred
the young man’s heart, as no other wo
man’s voice had pow er to do.
He took the casket and unlocked it,
and spread out its contents. A watch,
exquisite and costly, a diamond ring, one
or two rubies, and an emerald necklace.
Ross Dunbar barely suppressed a cry of
surprise as his eyes fell upon it. He
turned it over with eager, trembling fin
gers, and there on the tawny clasp was
the name that had lived in his heart for
so many years, “ Little Pansie.”
“ You wish to sell them all ?” he asked,
striving to steady his voice, and the wild
throbbing of his heart.
The lady hesitated an instant, then
she put out a slender hand and drew the
emeralds toward her.
“ I dislike to part with this,” she said,
“it was my father’s gift—and—and—but
no matter, take them all, I must have
the money.
In her eagerness she had drawn aside
her veil, revealing a lilly face, lit by a
pair of lustrous sapphire eyes. Ross
Dunbar stood silent a moment, every
nerve in his manly face thrilling with
supreme delight. He had found her at
last—the one idol of his heart.
“ They are fine gems,” he said, after a
moment, “ and I am'willing to give you
a fair price—suppose we say SI,OOO, will
that do ?’’
The girl glanced with a flash of glad
surprise from beneath her heavy veil.
“So much as that, she said, traum
lously. “ You are very kind, sir.
you cannot know how much this money
will help me."
The young man made a potite reply,
and proceeded to put aside the jewels
and to draw up a check for the money.
The March winds were still blustering
without, and the girl shivered and drew
her wrapper closer as she started out.
“ Won’t you let me iun down to the
hank for you," said the jeweler, catching
up his hat. “You can play shop lady
the while, it won’t be but a minute or
two.”
“ But I’m troubling you so, ’’ she fal
tered.
“Not a bit, just take this warm seat,
please, you’ll not be likely to have any
customers,” and seaU ng her beside his
desk, he took the ch#ck and hurried out.
. Pansie Fontenay threw back her veil,
and leaned her head upon her hand,with
a puzzled, reflected look upon her sweet
sad face.
“Where have I seen his face?" she
asked herself over and over again. ‘ ‘lt is
so familiar; who can it be?"
His return broke upon her meditation,
and receiving her money, she hurried
away to her humble lodgings.
The following afternoon was even more
blustering and stormy; the wind
and the sleet beat tinkled against
tl'.S windows of the little room in which
Pansie and her father sat. Severe mis
fortunes had reduced them to poverty,and
the old man being an invalid, all the care
fell upon Pansie’s slender shoulders. She
sat busy with her sewing, while her fath
er read aloud from anew book, which
she had bought for him with some of the
money received for her jewels. Her
sweet face was wan and sad, and the fu
ture stretched before her hopeless and
gloomy in all its aspects.
There was a ring at the door, the ser
vant brought up a package for Miss Fon
tenay. An exquisite bunch of pansies,
fragrant and golden-hearted, done up in
a tissue paper, and attached to them a
card bearing the simple words, “ Ross
Dunbar bus not forgotten little Pansie.”
Pansie sat amazed for a moment, and
then a rich bloom drifted up to her
white cheeks.
“O, father !” she cried, “I know him—
I know him. O, we have found Ross at
last.”
An instant later Ross was in the room,
clasping her fluttering hand in his, and
looking into her blue eyes with a glance
that brought rosy blushes to her face.
And a few weeks later, when the
blustering winds were over, and the blue
birds sang in the hedges, and the golden
hearted pansies bloom.ed on the garden
borders, little Pansie became RossJMM
bar's bride, and for
gave her back h
VOL. I--NO. 7.
Thirty Tears in & Cave.
In the wilderness eight miles north
west of Dinghartl's Ferry, Pike county,
Pa., underneath a huge rock in a small
cave, six by eight feet, has lived for up
wards of thirty years a human being
named Austin Sheldon. He Was born
in Wales, and emigrated to this country
in 1840. When he landed in New York,
he had a small sum of money, with
which he came afoot to Pike county and
purchased a single acre of wild, unculti
vated scrub oak land, situated in Lah-
amid a dense and dismal
forest, several miles from any habitation.
At the western end of this small strip
of land is a small cave, in which,[without
any alterations or improvements, this
hermit has lor thirty years made his
home.
The hermit is nearly seventy years of
age. His face lias not been shaven for
forty years. The sides of his face, and
chin and neck, are covered with coarse
gray hair, while his beard is several
feet in length, and white as snow. He
wears the same suit of clothes he wore
twenty years ago, which are so badly
rent, as to render it necessary to fasten
them together by means of twisted hick
ory wit hes. He "never works, and unless
obliged to go to the neareststore for am
munition, never loses sight of his cave.
His mode of living is peculiar. His
diet consists principally of. berries and
fruit during thejr season, while in the
winter he subsists on various kinds of
wild game. His education was not neg
lected during his boyhood, for he is well
read and remarkably intelligent. He is
a firm believer in religion, and devotes
most of his time to reading the Bible and
other sacred works. He is deaf and has
been so for several years, rendering it
necessary to communicate with him by
means of writing. He has the faculty of
charming birds, many of which he has
secured in this way and reared.
He has never used a lamp nor candle
in his cave. His bed is composed of
straw scattered upon a solid rock. Shel
don enjoys his peculiar mode of living,
and says he expects to make this cave
his final resting place.
Peck’s Buies and Begulations.
Upon entering this office you are par
ticularly requested not to use the door
mat, as we wish to accumulate soil in
side fora potato crop. jp
Please leave the door Wide open, or,
should you forget yourself and close it,
slam it like thunder/ (Winter arrange
ment.) y
It the propi'etor is engaged in con
versation ar;d it is your turn next, please
lean Ytt'ir chair against the wall and
whistle, sing.*
Never neglect an opportunity to im
prove your mind. If we are temporarily
absent sit on the desk, pick your teeth
with the gold pen and read the letters.
More may be found in the right hand
drawer.
Smoking is particularly agreeable. If
you are out of poor cigars w r e will lend
you a pipe.
If you see any spittoons please expec
torate on the floor, as the former are on
ly for ornament.
Our office hours for listening to so
licitors of church subscriptions are from
eleven to one, or book agents one to
three, advertising men all day. We at
tend to our own business at night.
We need about $1,000,000 more of life
insurance. If you are acquainted with
any agent pleasesend him in ; he hasn’t
been here since yesterday.
Don’t hesitate to ask for a loan, the
larger the better; but talk about some
thing else half an hour beforehand—
time isn’t worth a cent a year to us.
Persons having no especial business
with us will please call as often as their
health will permit, or send a doctor’s
certificate in case of absence.
Parties leaving date calendars will
oblige us by placing them wr the present
in the basket under the desk, or until we
can get a room with more commodious
walls.
But collectors will hang statements on
tho file and call on Saturday at 4 a. m.
This store closes at 3* p. m. on Satur
days.—St. Jjouix Republican.
The Mount of Olives.—The Mount
of Olives has changed hands. The
Countess de la Tour d’Auvergne, who
liver at Jerusalem, has bought and
handed it over to the French Govern
ment. She is now erected a convent on
the spot where our Savious prayed. The
prayer is inscribed on the stone wall
around the court yard, in thirty-two
languages. Thr countess is a lady of
immense wealth, and is as queer as she
She lives in an old cottage
■ Hfttal style, with only a tortoise'